The Enemy's Gate is a Lie
by EnKP
Summary: Tom ("Crazy Tom") is more than a little unusual. His records are blocked, he won't say where he came from or anything at all about his past life, and he has a serious temper.
1. The Launch Incident

He wasn't expecting much from the launch. There wasn't much to expect. The shuttle was loaded with children, some eager, some apprehensive, and it took off. It felt a bit wobbly for a moment, and there was some slight pressure that he felt in his ears and nose, but other than that, it was fine.

At least at the beginning.

After the initial stage, the teacher walked down the aisle, calling roll. "Yuri."

"Here, sir."

"Marcos."

"Here."

"Here, _sir_."

"Whatever."

It didn't matter what they said. It was all a game, anyway. To test them, to remind them who was in charge.

When the teacher got to his name, Han Tzu, he mangled it somehow. One of the bigger boys found humor in this. "Hey, he said Hot Soup."

"Hot Soup," another boy chuckled. "Good one." They stared at Han Tzu, who tried to lean back in his seat, away from them. Han Tzu mentally groaned-now he was stuck with a nickname for who-knows-how-long.

Next to him sat an empty seat. Which was weird, because there were twenty kids in the launch group-he remembered counting-and twenty seats, so there should be a perfect fit. But what seemed more important to him at the time was the fact that there appeared to be a negative stigma against him from day one. No one wanted to sit next to him. Someone had even sat next to Wu, the girl.

Oh well, thought Hot Soup. He was used to being lonely before, when the teachers had separated him from the others at school and when his parents separated him from his sister. It wasn't fun, but it was bearable.

Suddenly, the shuttle began to shake violently. A few people started screaming. One vomited-one of the ones who'd sneaked a few illicit chips before launch-and it floated around in a disgusting little cloud.

A spark flew. The teacher went down the aisle again, but this time not at a leisurely stroll. He was muttering to himself. Hot Soup caught a snippet. "They've been doing this for a hundred years, why does it go wrong _now_…"

And then the cabin went dark.

Even Hot Soup felt like screaming, at the shock and the fear and the sense of helplessness, but he bit his lip. The shuttle was filled with reverberating yells, shouts, pleadings, not all of them mockery.

"We're fixing it!" cried the teacher from inside the control cabin. And then Hot Soup's mind went blank.

He woke up-was it a few minutes or a few hours later?-to a light, but unusually subdued, shuttle. But beneath the surface, there was tension, a strained memory of the chaos after the lights had gone out.

Hot Soup looked to the left to observe his future classmates and saw a boy sitting in the once-empty seat.

He startled for a moment, then calmed down. "Who are you?" he asked.

The other boy smiled. He was tall, with a square, charismatic face, and a shock of black hair at the top. His eyes were a pale, indeterminate color, and they almost seemed to glow.

"I'm Tom," he said. "Don't you remember?"

Hot Soup thought back to the time when all the children had been clustered around the launch site and he had performed a count. He vaguely remembered Tom being somewhere in the crowd, though it was hazy, like a half-forgotten dream.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Tom. So where were you, anyway? During the launch?"

Tom smiled mysteriously. "I had to go…fix some things. In the pilot's cabin."

Hot Soup made a face. "What kind of things?"

"Oh, navigation," Tom said airily. "I've been flying shuttles since I was two years old, and now I'm a better navigator than the navigator." He sounded so completely serious that the obvious joke was made even more funny. Hot Soup laughed and momentarily forgot the question of where Tom had actually been. Right then, he felt he had found a friend.

"The teacher must be new," Tom commented as they exited the shuttle. "He seems uncertain. Like he doesn't know his craft."

Hot Soup nodded.

"His head looks like a potato," Tom added. "No, someone trying to carve a potato out of clay, except their knife slips and cuts gashes in the clay."

Hot Soup nodded.

"Are you going to say anything?" Tom asked. "How'd you get into Battle School? Everyone seems to have an interesting story about it."

"Trust me, mine isn't interesting," Hot Soup said. "My mom had a sister first, but she was ordinary. I suppose I was kind of a surprise. I remember my preschool teacher telling my mom that she should apply for me to take the tests to get in. And I passed. And next thing I knew-I was here."

Tom nodded.

"What's your story?" Soup asked, seeing this as an opportunity to get information about his friend.

Tom went silent. "You don't want to know," he said.

"Come on," Soup said. "Is it something…bad?" He left a significant pause between something and bad.

"Not exactly…"

"This way," the teacher said, interrupting their conversation conveniently. They took a left turn, and the discussion was over.

Later, after Hot Soup got his desk, he sat on his bunk playing on it. One weird game, better graphics than he had at home but still it didn't look very exciting. He would try it later. One personal message feature. He played with that for a little while, then got bored of it and moved on.

Then he remembered at home, when he'd hacked into the principal's files and exposed a very…personal letter. Maybe he could hack into the school database to find Tom's information. Desks and computer systems were his hidden talent.

He began. He was interrupted a few times, but all in all, it took him about an hour to reach the student files. Good, but not his best. He typed the name Tom into the search box. Five results came up. But it soon became apparent that none of them were _the_ Tom.

He looked at the most recent launch group. Nineteen students, none of them Tom.

He modified the search terms to include any students Tom who'd arrived in the most recent group.

A message flashed on his screen. UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS. Someone was trying to hide Tom's data from Soup. But who? And why?

Who _was_ Tom?


	2. Fly Molo

"Oh no."

Hot Soup stared at the empty battleroom. It was their first practice. He'd been feeling displaced from the moment he'd put on his flash suit, but now, staring at the battleroom, he felt almost sick.

"Soup. You go first," a jeering voice called from behind.

"You said it was Han - sorry, Hot Soup who was to go first?" The teacher moved behind them. "Okay, Soup. Move on in. We don't have all day - Rat and Condor are battling in here in a few hours."

Soup took a breath and bravely stepped in.

There was no way to really describe how it felt. He'd felt it before, but not in this big, nearly featureless, empty room. The best word might be disorienting.

He felt himself flip over and quelled a sudden wave of nausea.

After him, the other boys followed eagerly, swarming into the room. Some seemed to have the same reaction. Tom and a few other boys, however, spun and rebounded off walls. There was a happy shriek.

"Okay. It seems as if most of you are completely clueless when it comes to this." The teacher was the last one in the room, and he did a neat little spin to reach the end of the room, then grabbed a handhold. "So form up over here. Tom, you are excused from this lesson. You seem to be a natural."

A few boys tittered. Hot Soup couldn't tell if the man was joking or not.

"No, it's okay. I always have something to learn." Tom rebounded and reached the other side while most of the others were still figuring out how to move.

Tom was full of surprises.

After a few days, however, it became apparent that Tom was seeking-and finding- a new friend.

The boy's name was Fly Molo. An obvious nickname, but no one could remember the original anymore. He was tall and menacing, and when he said something, his eyes would scan the class, looking for anyone who would dare challenge him.

Hot Soup at once took a powerful dislike to him. He was too self-confident and arrogant. He thought too much of himself and claimed he was the best. Even when, say, Wu beat him six-zero at an arcade game, he would always say, Oh, I was just _playing_ to see how good she was, I wasn't really trying, I could do better next time, I could beat her any day. I could beat _all_ of you, easy.

But for some reason, Tom sought him out for conversation.

"How did you do that flip?" he asked one day, as they were leaving the practice battleroom.

"Oh, I've had practice," said Molo, jutting out his chin. "Or maybe I'm just naturally good. Did you know an elder brother of mine went to the Olympics? For swimming? I trained with him, and sometimes I'd even beat him. This was before the Olympics closed," he added proudly.

"Really?" Tom sounded impressed, or maybe he was just making a very good imitation of it.

"Yeah. Some of the swimming tactics are applicable to nullo." The pair turned away from Hot Soup, who groaned inwardly. Everyone knew by then that the battleroom was almost nothing like swimming. In fact, he wondered privately if any of Molo's brag was true. So far, Molo had had a brother in the Olympics, a sister who'd won a national award for science, a grandfather who'd piloted one of the first flights to Mars, and he himself had won dozens of awards, competitions, and contests. There was only so much accomplishment a family could gain.

But Tom didn't seem to be leaving Molo any time soon, so Soup decided he was stuck with him. Gradually, he began to bear the boy, and soon came to even like him a little bit. Time, it seemed, could change anything. And so they settled into the the rhythm, breakfast-practice-lunch-practice-gym-freetime-din ner-bed, and gradually forgot the lives they'd left behind on Earth. And the mystery of Tom began to slip away from Soup.


	3. Wade Won the Game

**Ready Player One reference**

"Great heroes of history," groaned Fly Molo. "Why are we doing this project again? School? Why do we even do school?"

"To pass the time until we get into an army," reminded Tom. "Isn't that why we do anything?" Even in his joke, the message was clear.

Hot Soup was looking at the list scrolling down his desk that displayed the possibilities of people to learn about for the project. "Pretty standard," he remarked. "Except - oh, who's this?"

Fly Molo and Tom leaned over Soup's shoulders to get a good look at the name. "Wade Watts," Tom read off. "Oh, I know him. You never learned about him in school, Soup?"

"No," said Hot Soup.

"Never?" Tom was incredulous. "Well, here. Read his description." He tapped a few buttons and returned the desk to Soup.

Soup read, his eyes scanning the page. When he finished, he raised his head again. "I can't believe it," he said. "This guy became rich and famous, well-known as a hero all over the world, just because he won a little game?"

"Crazy, neh?" agreed Tom.


	4. Lion Army

It seemed as though months had passed, and at the same time as though it felt like only yesterday that they'd boarded the shuttle and launched to the Battle School. Everyone had pretty much gotten used to the battle room, though Hot Soup still felt a wave of nausea every so often. A vague hierarchy had been formed among their launch group, and surprisingly, Tom had ended up near the top. Hot Soup, as his constant companion, had gained a sort of reflected prestige.

In the battleroom, Tom and a boy called Oford ("Oaf") were at the top of the class. Hot Soup himself was the best at the academic things, though he had his struggles, and Wu, the girl, beat everyone else at the arcade games. Running bets sprung up about who would be the first to get promoted.

In the end, it was a sly boy named Willis, which no one had expected. After he received his transfer slip (to Salamander) and calmly exited the room amid cheers and shouts, even more of the launch group got promoted.

One day, after a particularly exhausting practice, Hot Soup left to take a shower. When he returned to the barracks, he found Tom sitting on his bed, calmly but with subtle face-twitches.

"Tom, have you showered yet?"

"No."

"What're you waiting for? At this rank you'll knock out all the armies with your stink." Hot Soup tried to imitate Tom's casual insults, but he fell silent when he saw what Tom held in his hands.

Two sheets of paper. Small half-slips. One said Tom's name on the top, and the other said Hot Soup's.

And then below the names, on each of them, it said the words. _Transfer: Lion Army. Commander Felix Bardon. Effective immediately._

Hot Soup let out a small gasp. "Transfer? To an army?"

"Don't tell me you weren't expecting it," Tom said, his tone indicating that he'd already gotten over the shock.

Hot Soup nervously played with his hands.

"Well, I suppose we'd better head over," Tom said, jumping off his bunk and landing neatly on the ground. "I was only waiting for you." He began to walk into the corridor.

"Did anyone else get transferred along with us?" Soup asked, hurrying to catch up with Tom's lengthly strides.

"I think Molo did. He left about a half-hour ago," Tom said. "Oh-and Wu. The girl."

Hot Soup grimaced.

"Oh, you don't like her, do you," said Tom. "Oh, I know. You're just pretending. You're in looove with her! Our little Soup has a crush!"

Hot Soup groaned. "For the last time, just because we both come from the same place doesn't mean we're in love. And just because she's a girl-"

"I know, I know," said Tom.

But Soup smiled inwardly. He'd gotten a response out of Tom, who'd been acting strangely up until then. "Come on," he said, increasing his pace and passing Tom. "Let's race to Lion."

Neither of them really knew where the Lion barracks were, but Tom finally found them after taking a strange turn near the gym and making his way through a veritable maze of corridors.

They opened the door and entered together.

The room was crowded and noisier than it had seemed from outside. Boys ran around the room, shouted at each other, jumped around the bunks, and even threw desks. It was like stepping in the middle of a giant food fight, minus the food.

"Order!"

Suddenly a boy stepped out from around the corner. He was small and rather stout, yet he carried himself with a deep sense of authority. _He must be the commander,_ thought Soup, coming to the obvious conclusion, but he kept it to himself.

The chaos of the room instantly resolved itself. The boys calmed down and stood on or next to their bunks, standing up straight. All eyes were on the leader.

"We have two new soldiers that I haven't yet introduced," the boy said. "Hot - I mean Han Tzu and Tom." He turned to the pair and whispered, "You were late. In my army, I expect you to be on time. Always."

"Yes sir," said Tom, almost sarcastically.

The other boy didn't catch the irony. "Tom, you will be in B toon for now," he said in a louder voice. "And Hot Soup, you will be in D toon. Here are your bunks." He pointed to the two apparently unoccupied bunks, which were on opposite sides of the room. "Meet at 0650 sharp for pre-breakfast practice. Then I'll see how good you are."

"0650?" asked Tom, ever the brave one. "Isn't that a little…early?"

"Early?" The boy, Felix Bardon, gave him an inscrutable look. "Lion didn't get to number 4 on the standings by letting its soldiers sleep in. Now good night." He turned and left the room, leaving Tom and Soup to stare at each other, wondering what they'd gotten themselves into.

[A sort of funny story: Originally in Lion in the writing of this story, Hot Soup was assigned to E toon...I just found that a little amusing. If you don't get it, recall that most armies have four toons, and Dragon is the only one with five. Sorry for the interruption.]


	5. Tom Goes Crazy

Being in an army, it turned out, was very different than the launch group. Hot Soup had his first brush with this fact when he was roused from a deep slumber by Tom shaking him.

"Wake up, wake up. It's time for our first practice."

"Ugh." Soup pushed himself up and flung his legs over the side of the bunk. He'd been having a strange, murky dream in which he'd been being chased by a lion with a mane of gold silk thread and the face of Felix Bardon. "I swear you never sleep, Tom."

"I sleep," argued Tom. He scanned the room. The rest of the soldiers were also awaking, yawning, looking groggy. "Put on your flashsuit. Look, it's Fly Molo!"

Five minutes later, the trio was trotting down to the practice room. Hot Soup felt nervousness stir in the pit of his belly. He was ordinarily clumsy in the battleroom, but half-asleep and groggy, with his eyes tired and begging to close, that would be even more difficult. Of course, Tom and Molo were as awake and alert as ever, talking and joking eagerly, speculating about what their first practice as an army would be like.

"Okay. Line yourselves up by toon." Felix Bardon strolled along their ranks as they assembled themselves in order.

"A Toon in first. Assemble yourselves at the far wall." The commander made a launch motion with his arms, and the ten boys flung themselves into the battleroom.

"B toon." That was Tom. He was clearly one of the best. He looked graceful and calm. The toons were ordered by skill, it seemed, but Soup believed that Tom should've been in A Toon.

"C toon." Fly Molo and Wu.

And finally: "D toon." That was Hot Soup's toon. He walked over to the gate and launched himself through. After an initial jerk in his gut, he felt fine, and made it over with the rest of his toon.

"We'll need to work on that, D toon," said Felix Bardon from A Toon's area, staring straight at Soup. All right, he had launched a little slowly and clumsily, but the commander shouldn't have singled him out like that. A few titters came from the direction of A Toon.

"Today we're going to work on our aim," said Felix Bardon, ignoring the rude comments in the background. "C toon, your aim was pathetic in our last battle. I'll have your leaders bring out the target balls for you to practice with. D toon, practice your formations, particularly Alpha and Spinner. I've reserved some stars for afternoon practice, but for now, make do with frozen soldiers. And A and B - meet with me to practice accurate launch-and-shooting."

After a few minutes, Soup saw that that was a bad idea. The launch-and-shoot took the A and B toons around the room, which gave them opportunity to insult the lowly C and D toons and to poke fun at their clumsy formations. About a quarter of those toons were new, either fresh from their launch groups or transferred from other armies. It wasn't really their faults that they were awkward.

Tom was stony silent. Whether he was angry or hard at work, Soup couldn't tell.

Felix Bardon was moving around the room, checking on all the groups. When he passed by Soup, who was trying to cram formation patterns into his already tired brain, he gave - what was that? A small smirk? Soup made sure his face was neutral. He would stay out of trouble. Trouble was for Tom to deal with, not him.

The boy was clearly hearing the insults and jeers, yet not responding to them. He even snickered at a particularly well-placed were two sides of Felix Bardon, Soup decided. One was the commander who craved order, and the other was the cruel boy who fostered chaos. Which side was the real boy? Was the cruelty a shield from his heart of gold, or was his command a mask covering his ugly temperament?

Tom, he noticed, was beginning to crack. His face was flushing, and he would open his mouth as if to say a snappy comeback, then suddenly snap it shut. Soup had never seen him like this. Usually he was the calmest person in the Battle School.

"Just wait till we get back to the barracks," he hissed in Soup's ear on the way to the showers.

When they did return to the barracks, Tom planted himself firmly in the center of the room. His face was flushed red, and he was nearly shaking with rage. "Who thinks Bardon was being unfair in the practice room today?"

No one dared raise a hand.

"He was openly contemptuous towards his soldiers! He was ignoring - no, _encouraging_ - insults! Do you call that a commander? Who would want to follow him into battle?"

The room was dead silent for a moment. Then Wu stepped forward. "I agree," she said.

Everyone began talking at once, drowning out Wu's next words. They were saying how _stupid_ Tom and Wu were, how his cause was so lame that the only person who would join it was a _girl_, which was a stupid argument because Wu was clearly smarter than at least half the army, et cetera, et cetera.

Finally, Ix, leader of A Toon, stepped forward. "What are you doing, talking about Bardon this way," he hissed. "If it was up to me, I would-"

Tom threw a pillow at him.

The pillows at the Battle School were hard and ropy - who knew what they were stuffed with - and so it really hurt when the pillow hit Ix's cheek. He staggered backwards a few steps, then plopped down on the bed. His cheek bore an angry red mark where the pillow had struck.

The room dissolved into chaos. Pillows and sheets were grabbed off beds, thrown around, who cared what they hit. And at the center of it all was Tom, shouting incoherently. It was insanity.

When no one was looking, Soup slipped out the door to breakfast.


	6. Transferred

It was eerily silent in the barracks after breakfast. Everyone was calm, or hiding their other emotions very well. They slipped around quietly, carefully, worried that doing the tiniest thing might spark another outbreak from Tom.

Everyone eventually filed out to their classes. As with most others, Tom and Hot Soup had physics first. Soup caught up with Tom in the hallway. "Your rant after practice. What was that about?"

Tom shrugged. "I don't know. I just like things to be fair. And sometimes I lose my temper."

Soup still felt uncomfortable, so he avoided him for the rest of the walk.

There was more practice later in the day, until Soup felt like his limbs had been sliced open and left to burn under a hot sun. He wanted nothing more than to lie down on his bunk and complain about how much he ached, but that was a sign of weakness. And anyway, he couldn't be late to the gym, or else he would get on the dreaded pig list.

After thirty excruciating minutes, he returned to his room, and then to the game room. It was filled with people, and the burbles, screeches, bells, and yells of the video games inside. Hot Soup chose one that was empty, a retro-style game where you had to control a small ball rolling around a maze, and put his hands on the controls.

It turned out he was fairly good at it. Nowhere near as good as Wu would've been, he was sure, but he passed through the first few levels without losing a single life. Something about it vaguely bothered him, though. He had been born for the Battle School, to command wars in space, and here he was, playing a silly little game about a marble. Is that why I am here in this world? To control a little ball rolling around a maze, preventing it from falling off the edges? What kind of existence is that?

"Hot Soup."

A voice behind him. It was Tom, coming up around his side.

Hot Soup rolled his marble off the maze. "Ho, Tom. What do you need to tell me?"

He'd been expecting a joke or an anecdote. A crude reference, maybe. Because that was what Tom was like. But instead Tom beckoned Soup away from the game.

"Look, Soup. I need to say…" He broke off. "Now's not the time. Go back to your game and forget that I said anything."

"The game is over." Soup stared at the screen. GAME OVER, it said. "Just tell me."

"Forget it. In fact, you should probably forget me, too."

"Tom? Why are you acting so weird? Is it because you think you're going to get transferred soon?"

Tom shook his head. "No, it's not like that…"

"Tom?"

Tom turned and left.

Hot Soup was still puzzling over the incident a few days later, when they had their first battle.

It had been a completely normal day for Lion Army. It was after practice and breakfast, about 1030, when Felix Bardon walked into the room with a white slip of paper in his fist. He held it up for all to see. That was enough signal the army needed. After a few seconds of assorted whoops, cheers, and battle cries, everyone began changing into their flash suits.

The small slip of paper began circulating among the toon leaders. Soup walked over to the leader of D toon, Yoyo, and asked, "Who are we battling?"

"Condor," Yoyo read. "Commander Hassan Onyx." Then he gave Soup a strange look. "What're you waiting for, boy? Get your flash suit on!"

Because of Lion's strictly enforced promptness, all the soldiers were at the gate five minutes early. Felix strutted along the ranks in his freshly pressed commander's flash suit, giving boys who sneaked out of line dangerous looks. Finally, the door turned transparent and became a gate.

Felix Bardon assessed the situation, his dark eyes scanning the room. Finally, he turned. "B toon, the top of the front stars. Formation Zee. C and D, launch toward the side walls and rebound, coming around the stars. No formation-I just want you to cause chaos. A Toon, wait with me."

In an instant, the army was in motion. Hot Soup jumped, rebounded off the right wall, and came around the front of the star. He aimed carefully and shot. No, that was a miss. Again. The soldier he'd been aiming at spun away, frozen. Was that his beam or someone else's that did it? No matter. He aimed again.

"AAAH!" someone screamed. Soup turned and broke out of his zone. He remembered Felix Bardon's commands and launched to where his toon leader was.

"We're doing pretty well," the toon leader said. "Hardly any casualties. They got Lou's arm, and Molo-" He gestured to Fly Molo, who was drifting in the corner, entirely frozen. Soup, you injured?"

"Nope," said Soup.

A Toon launched off the perpendicular wall to the enemy's gate in front of them, like speeding jet planes over head. A moment later, the cry came from the commander. "Spiralax!"

"Spiralax," repeated the C toon second, as if they hadn't heard.

They spun off the stars and moved forward at an incredible pace. Condor couldn't hit them, because they were spinning. But out of the corner of his eye, Soup could see A and B being torn apart, their carefully orchestrated formations descending into chaos. Felix Bardon's plan wasn't working.

Tom was the only one left. He aimed and shot. A solid hit. Another hit. He spun, shot, rebounded, and aimed. Launched for the enemy's gate.

It was a suicide move, but he'd already scored enough hits to be at the top of the efficiency list. Hot Soup watched, amazed at his friend's talent, until he heard a low drone. A laser was firing on his suit. Quickly he spun away, but the damage was done. His left arm was disabled.

Lion ended up getting slaughtered. The other commander, Hassan Onyx, which sounded like a fake name to Soup, won quickly.

Soup was exhausted. He showered, then ate voraciously.

Tom wasn't there.

Instead, he was back in the barracks, methodically shredding a pillow. Everyone else was eerily silent.

"Spiralax! What was he thinking! Spirilax wouldn't win against a bunch of kittens with their eyes closed! Spirilax is what they teach Launchies in _Ground School_!" He didn't notice Soup coming in, instead continuing his rant.

"Tom," said a dangerously soft voice from the entranceway.

Tom ignored him.

"Tom. I have something for you." Felix Bardon strode up and handed Tom a piece of paper. Tom's flushed face turned paler. Soup knew exactly what it was: a transfer slip.

He went to Tom and sat beside him. It was a transfer to Spider Army.

"Goodbye," said Soup.

Tom wordlessly left the room, dropping the slip on the ground on his way out.

Soup felt sorry for him. But deep inside, he knew that Tom, with his endless rants and his dangerous moods, must've been hard for Felix Bardon to keep around. And he pitied the commander of Spider Army.


	7. Top of the Standings

Lion Army was different without Tom. More lonely. And in the mess hall, where they dined, Tom seemed to steer clear of Soup, as if he was ashamed. Or maybe hiding. Tom wasn't one to hide, though.

There was Fly Molo to talk to, but he was often rude and fond of pointing out inconsistencies in stories. There was Wu, but she was solitary and kept her own company. So Hot Soup was alone once again.

They had another battle a few weeks later. Soup was getting better. He stayed alive through most of the game and scored a few hits. He kept close watch on the soldier efficiency list, watching his rank rise and fall. It rose more often than it fell.

He was moved to C toon, then to B. Wu was in B, too. They made polite conversation, and occasionally competed in the arcade games. She beat him pretty badly every time. He discovered a weird retro game, entitled "Minecraft" for some reason he'd never fully understood, that he was fairly good at. He liked both exploring the strange worlds on his own and fighting with her in virtual arenas. Sometimes he could even inflict some damage on her.

Felix Bardon was graduated. There wasn't much fanfare. He'd been neither popular nor unpopular among the majority of the students. They got a new commander. Yuri. His second-in-command was another girl, Petra. It was all just part of the game, the endless shifting of the ranks at the Battle School.

One day, Hot Soup had finished his dinner early and was examining the efficiency list on the wall. Tom had somehow managed to get to 11th. He was now one of the elite. But it said he was in Phoenix Army.

"Tom, why are you in Phoenix Army?" Soup asked boldly, though he feared he knew the answer already.

"Oh, I got transferred," Tom said airily.

"From Spider to Phoenix?"

"No, first I got transferred from Spider to Fox, and then I think to Condor, and then to Phoenix. Why?"

Hot Soup looked at him strangely. "Tom. Why do you keep getting yourself transferred?"

"Dunno. I lose my temper. I am very temperamental." Tom looked away.

The conversation moved away from that topic, but Soup realized that for some reason, Tom had changed. He wasn't as jokey as before. He was quieter, a little more reserved in talking to his friends. Was it the endless transfers that was doing it? Soup wondered. Was it simply his temper, taking over the rest of his life?

"Soup. I have something to tell you." Tom stood up, pushing his plate away.

"But…we're still eating," Soup said.

"I'm not hungry anymore. And you're finished, or else you wouldn't have come over here."

True. "Okay. What do you have to say?"

Tom walked to the corner of the room. It was darker there, shaded by an overhang, and away from most of the talk and flurry of the mess hall.

He took his hand and raised it to his cheek.

"Tom…"

Tom brushed at the pale skin of his cheek…and it came off. Not peeling, but it was as if there had been coloring or paint on it that he'd just rubbed off.

Underneath, it was black. Blacker than black. Blacker than night. Blacker than darkness. Blacker than light-absorbing metal in space, being drawn into a black hole.

And suddenly it all made sense.

[Does it make sense to you now?]


	8. Just Beginner's Luck?

"Hey Tom," Hot Soup said one day at lunch. "Looks like someone's beat you out on the prized list."

Tom squinted to make out the soldier efficiency board over the crowd and the craning necks. "Ender Wiggin," he read. "Hm - never heard of him before. Probably some Launchy. Beginner's luck."

"I don't know," said Soup. "He could be good."

Tom scoffed. "Doubt it," he said. "Someday I'll probably be his commander. I'll stick him in D toon. Then we'll see."


End file.
